Loss and Gain
by Garnetcorvid
Summary: When Harley gets a nasty bump on the head, she comes back as a more competent and less bumbling assistant. What will Mr. J do with her when she doesn't mess everything up all the time? Harley
1. God Forbid

"Harley!" he screamed.

"She's outside like you told her boss."

He turned to the nameless thug who had spoken and snarled. "If I wanted you to speak I would pay you less." He turned back and then began to stride from the building. If everything went according to plan, and everyone did as they had been told, he had a good five minutes before the explosion to get out and get to his spot to watch the place burn to the ground. But of course, when did anyone listen?

He had just slipped out the back door when it happened. He didn't even hear it before he went completely deaf from the blast, then his face hit the pebbled ground. He cursed, streams of foul words spilled from his bleeding lips. His brute of a henchman hauled him up off the ground and carried him to safety before another explosion happened. _Someone was going to pay for this._ That though kept looping in his mind. That someone was going to be Harley, even if it wasn't her fault directly, he knew she had some small part in it, she always did.

By the time he walked around the inferno of a building to where he was supposed to be watching he had began to regain some of his hearing. A hand full of other nameless hired hands stood around with their mouths agape, they didn't even notice him walk up until he started screaming at them.

"What…in the blue FUCK, was that?!" he was brushing himself off, "That explosion happened a full three minutes before it was supposed to, I almost died!" He stopped patting dust off his torn purple suit when he noticed something was missing.

"Where is Harley?" He said, more of a command than an inquiry.

The brainless fools looked from him to the building as one of them spoke. "She went in to rescue you boss, she said she was strong enough, for us to wait here."

His eyes went wide as another explosion wracked the warehouse. It took him a small moment to put words together.

"Go GET HER NOW!" he shouted pulling out a revolver and pointing it aimlessly at the small horde of henchmen. Immediately they ran toward the burning building.

He had come close to losing her before but this, this she may not walk away from. All he could do was stand there watching as they ran into the warehouse after his Harlequin, a pang of fear gripped him for the slightest of moments. He was actually afraid to lose her, for whatever that meant. He found himself gripping the guns handle with inhuman strength, watching the front of the blaze for something, anything to emerge.

Finally after what seemed like eternity, one of the henchmen came stumbling out with her flung over his hulking shoulder. She swayed with his gait like a lifeless doll. He held back the urge to run to them, waiting instead for her to be brought to him.

"Lay her down here." He said, keeping his composure. Once she was on the ground he knelt by her side. Her mask and hat had been torn from her face that was now smeared with white make up, blood and ash.

"Harley," he could see her blond hair was red with blood, there was a deep gash across her head, warm sticky fluid seeping out.

"What happened?" He said with a deep growling voice.

"Couple of us, didn't make it, but, I found her, a beam fell on her boss." The dullard who had retrieved her spoke.

He looked back down at her, placing long fingers on her jugular vein, he felt a faint pulse.

"Get the car and I swear on your mother's grave if she dies because of your lack of speed…" He didn't have to finish his sentence before the brute was running as fast as he could to get their getaway car. She needed a doctor, and he would be damned if he was about to lose his most valuable asset. He scooped her limp body into his arms and folded her away into the car before climbing in after her. He watched the building burn for a moment through the car window as they sped away, sick inside because he didn't get to revel in his work like he had planned, pissed at whatever caused the explosion to prematurely detonate, and downright disgusted with the fact that once again he had to patch her up. He watched her head lull around on the seat as the car bounced along, almost hating her.

He reached out an ash smeared hand and touched her dirty bloody face, she was getting cold. As much as having her with him was a constant liability, _God help the world if she were to ever die_ was all he could think.


	2. Depravity

The doctor walked out of the back room, his apron and scrubs covered with blood and ash. As he removed his gloves  
he shook his head.

"Joker, she can't take much more of this, she's lucky to be alive this time, even that mess Ivy gave her can't keep  
her alive forever." He said removing his mask. He was an older gentlemen. Weary looking from being woken up in the  
middle of the night to come tend to Harley.

"You aren't on my payroll to give me advice doc, and unless you want to be permanently removed I think you should  
keep your opinions to your damn self," Joker growled angrily.

The doctor shook his head again and quit himself of the Joker's hideout. Mister J's henchies blindfolded the man  
and led him to a car.

Joker sighed and entered the makeshift operating room. There Harley lay lifeless, her face had been cleaned. Part  
of her hair had been shaved to get to the gash. He could see fresh stitches amidst bruised and purple skin. The  
wound looked downright angry. Gingerly he reached a hand out and placed it under her chin, turning her angelic  
face towards him. He surveyed her features, darkly lashed eyes, petite upturned nose, soft full lips, his eyes  
roamed the rest of her, her harlequin suit torn in places.

"Boss, Mista J," one of his brood appeared in the doorway, "the doc's gone, what do you want us..." he was cut off.

"Make yourselves scarce." Joker said curtly, not bothering to look up at the man. Without a word the henchmen left.

Now alone Joker sat Harley up, unzipping the outfit she wore and slipping it over her shoulders. Laying her back  
down he proceeded to peel the rest of it down her naked body. Fresh black bruises mixed with older greenish ones  
spotted her skin. One on her hip in particular stood out.

He smiled remembering how she got some of those bruises and continued to undress her. Flinging the tattered  
clothing to the floor he moved to pick her up. Her head lolled as he carried her to the bathroom and placed her in  
the tub. Looking down at her vulnerable body all sorts of fiendish and depraved things skittered through his warped  
mind. He pushed those delightful thoughts aside, for now he would just bathe her.

He had never been known to do things like this, not in front of anyone that was. And if Harley was even slightly  
coherent she would be doing it herself. He turned the water on and let it warm up before grabbing a washcloth and  
soaking in with soap. Gently he ran the cloth over her abused and dirty skin, the water running gray from the  
cloth. He took his time, grazing the rough material over her breasts, down her stomach.

He decided to conduct an experiment and let his slender fingers slide between her legs where he gently rubbed  
circles. She didn't respond. She must really be out, he thought. The thought of taking advantage of her while she  
was unconscious made his pants a little tighter around the groin. He put it from his mind, he didn't want to damage  
her farther.

Once he was satisfied with her cleanlyness he pulled her from the tub and towled her dry, then he walked her to the  
bed and slid her under the covers. Her breathing was shallow, she had yet to make a noise. After tucking her in he  
sat in a chair opposite the bed and watched her. Folding his hands together he sat...silence filled the room.  
Somewhere between five or six in the morning he dozed off and didn't wake untill the following evening.


	3. Changes

"Mista J," a soft voice floated through his head, "Mista J, I made you food."

He groaned, something smelled absolutely delicious, meaty.

His brow furrowed as he squinted. She stood in front of him, a long night shirt draped her curvy body. A cartoon  
character with messy hair proclaimed "i'm not a morning person" across her chest. Happy to see her up he  
instinctively moved to reach out to her but stopped himself, plastering his signature look of disgust across his  
pallid face.

"What time is it?" he growled.

She smiled faintly. "It's eight thirty." she answered calmly.

Something in her voice was different. He frowned, studying her.

"Food then." he said grufly.

"It's right next to you, I already prepared it, steak, and mashed potatoes, I added garlic I hope you like it, and  
there's a beer for you." she motioned to the food still hot on the plate next to him, and the bottle dripping with  
condensation.

He looked to his left and raised a brow. Picking up the plate he cut into the meat, he opened his mouth to complain  
about how it was cooked but quickly closed it again. It was rare, bloody rare like he liked it. She didn't over  
cook it like she always did. It was a fluke he supposed and then tasted the potatoes. Again, perfect, no complaint  
to be had.

"Is there something wrong? Does it not please you?" She asked, concern in her voice.

"Actually, you didn't manage to fuck everything up this time Harls..." he eyed her as he chewed. Delight lit up her  
face.

"Don't get worked up, I can't have you busting stitches and bleeding on my floor again." His words cut her down.

She stopped smiling.

"Go...do something useful." he commanded as he ate. She hurridly walked away, her bare feet padding on the floor.

Something was off about her, she wasn't squeeling in his ear like a shreaking harpie. He figured it was the meds,  
and sighed knowing it wouldn't last long.

He finished his food and stretched.

"Harley!" He bellowed.

Immediately she appeared in the doorway.

"Yes Mista J?" again, her voice was calm and soft.

"Come here," he pointed to the floor in front of his chair.

She quickly came to him and stood, still wearing the night shirt he studied her. She had her hair pulled into a  
loose pony tail. She had parted it on the opposite side of her gash and combed it over to cover it. Her face was  
soft, emotionless, she usually wore a maniacle smile or a dramatic frown. It was refreashing, he'd not seen her  
serious face since their sessions in Arkham.

His eyes moved down and rested on her chest. Her full heavy breasts rising and falling with her breathing, he could  
see her pert nipples standing out against the thin material. Moving farther down he stoppd at the hem of the  
nightshirt. It came to and end mere inches below her ass. He could see where her thighs began to curve in between  
her legs. Still bruised here and there, her skin was creamy. He reached out a white hand and touched her leg. She  
flinched ever so slightly.

"Come here." He demanded.

She obeyed, His hand gliding over her skin he squeezed. He slid his hand around the back of her leg, his fingers  
touching the soft skin between her thighs. He looked up at her, her dark eyes fluttering closed as he touched her  
gently.

"Knees." He said. Instantly she was on her knees before him. Blue eyes met Red in the dim light. He reached behind  
her head and pulled the tie out of her hair.

"You know I hate your hair up." He said, annoyed. His fingers traced the collar of her nightshirt. She stayed  
motionless before him.

"Do you know how much trouble you are?" He asked. She nodded. "Then how about you repay me for my hospitality." He  
spoke as he leaned back in the chair.

Without another word she began to unbotton his pants, sliding the zipper down she reached inside. He was already  
hard. She pulled his lengthy shaft from it's bindings and stroked him. He watched her intently. Without having to  
be asked she darted her tongue out and licked him from base to tip. The Joker hissed. Then in one swift motion his  
full length was in her mouth. She worked her lips around him, sucking, messaging him with her tongue. He reached  
out to grab her hair and force her down but pulled back. Her hair had moved, revealing the nasty gash on her head.  
It was black in places, dried blood around the stitches. He pushed her off of him and cursed.

"Clean that up," He said motioning to her head. Her face went red as she wiped her mouth and rushed to the bathroom  
without protest.

He was unnearved. Tucking himself back into his pants he stood. She hadn't said more than two sentances since she  
had woken him up. It was unlike her to not be squawking and pouting for his affection. She hadn't protested when he  
pushed her away, and she hadn't messed up dinner.

"Harley sew up my jacket!" He screamed across the room to her.

"Already did!" she hollered back from the bathroom.

That was it! He said to himself. Who was this person and where was his Harley? Angry he walked to the makeshift  
closet where, wouldn't you know, his jacket hung looking like it had just left the store. Snatching it off a hangar  
he stormed out the door. Snapping his fingers one of his henchmen opened the door to his car for him. He needed to  
get out of the twilight zone. Maybe killing someone would help. He wouldn't know until the time came. Without  
another word to Harley he drove off.


End file.
